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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28854273">Just Act Natural</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneOfThoseThings/pseuds/OneOfThoseThings'>OneOfThoseThings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Doctor Who (2005)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>...y'know unless you decide to read it as non-platonic, Also this means I can use a bunch of tags I love but never get to use, Boundary Issues, Can be read as platonic but I personally ship TF out of these two, Cotton Candy Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff without Plot, Gen, Hijinks &amp; Shenanigans, Humor, Open to Interpretation, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Sharing a Bed, The Doctor definitely purrs, There's nothing expressly shippy in this fic so it's safe for platonic fans, a distinct lack of shame, sharing food</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:42:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28854273</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneOfThoseThings/pseuds/OneOfThoseThings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Donna promises to get the Doctor to Martha’s wedding. It’s no problem. Really. </p><p>A/N: Readers are welcome to decide for themselves whether to read this one as shippy or platonic. Follow your hearts! (But if your heart craves more explicit shipping then feel free to chase this with the optional sequel, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28854285">Compatible Lunacy</a>.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tenth Doctor &amp; Donna Noble</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Just Act Natural</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thanks, as usual, to my beta reading champion, Quercusrobur!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you <em>mean</em> I’m locked out?!” the Doctor asked. Possibly shouted. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna shrugged and pulled a suitcase over to the doors. “Not exactly a code, was it? Martha’s wedding is tomorrow. I told her I’d get you there on time and in one piece. So we’re staying with Mum and Gramps until then.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?!” The Doctor tried another six levers and got a mild shock for his troubles. “What did you do to my ship?!?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This crazy thing called ‘asked her nicely,’” Donna said, and rolled another suitcase over. “Here, this one’s yours.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor looked down at the blue case. “My <em>what?</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your suitcase,” Donna said, over-enunciating like he was a dim child. “The TARDIS packed it. Can’t have Mum asking why you don’t have one. She still thinks I’m travelling with you on a research grant, remember?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” the Doctor asked, clearly not listening. He banged around the controls again. “What? What?!?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oi, knock that off,” Donna chided at the same time as the TARDIS delivered another pointed shock. “Come on, I told Mum we’d help bake a cake for Suzette.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” the Doctor said. “Why would we do <em>that?!</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna shrugged. “You can tell me all about how primitive the technology is and then rattle on about chemical reactions for two straight hours.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor perked up. “Does your mother have one of those archaic mechanical whisks…?” He made a violent twisting gesture with one hand. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A manual one <em>and </em>a mechanical one,” Donna said. “The mechanical one is really old. If it breaks, you can take it apart,” she added, sing-song.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor took one last look at the unresponsive console. “Fine. But you’re making banana bread every day for a week!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“One day,” Donna said. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Today!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine.” She handed him the blue suitcase. “If we have the ingredients after the cake.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is a terrible idea,” Sylvia said for the eleventh time. “Does he even know what he’s doing?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine, mum.” Donna blocked her way into the kitchen. “You wanted a cake for Suzette! He’s baking a cake for Suzette!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wanted <em>you</em> to bake the cake,” Sylvia corrected, trying to crane around and get a look at the strange man currently ruining her kitchen. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna bobbed with her, making it hard to make out more than a skinny brown blur. “I’m here, aren’t I? She held the front of her flour-covered apron up like it was Exhibit A in a trial. “I’m in here baking! I just happen to have some help!” There were at least four handprints on the apron that were far too large for her daughter’s hands. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you in some sort of hostage situation?” Sylvia asked, eying the handprints. “Is he not letting you leave?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Donna seemed to find that hilarious for some reason, nearly laughing her head off. “You think <em>he’s</em> got <em>me</em> held hostage?! <em>Him?!</em>” She jerked her thumb back in the direction of the skinny fool who licked something off of his own fingers, wrinkled his nose, and took a scoop of jam with those same fingers, popping them right back into his mouth. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is that my good boysenberry jam?!” Sylvia squawked. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man looked up, blinking wide eyes with his fingers still in his mouth. “…Maybe?” he mumbled around his own fingers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna made a sharp gesture behind herself and turned back to Sylvia. “It’s part of the recipe, Mum.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The <em>cinnamon</em> bundt cake recipe I put out?” Sylvia asked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna nodded shamelessly. “Yep. The cinnamon bundt cake recipe. It’s, uh, garnish. That’s a thing, right? Garnish?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not for cakes!” Sylvia pointed out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Listen, it’ll be fine!” Donna reached around and pulled some half-eaten biscuits over, offering them through the doorway she was still blocking. “You’ll have your cake, I’ll have helped. Suzette will love it. Here, eat some biscuits and just relax. Somewhere else.” She made a vague shooing gesture with the tin. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is <em>my</em> kitchen!” Sylvia reminded her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Quite right,” the strange Doctor chirped, bending out of sight. “Donna, could you ask your mother where she keeps her thermic regulator?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My <em>what?!</em>” Sylvia craned around, trying to get a look at whatever he was doing down there. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ahaha,” Donna laughed awkwardly. “Silly Doctor always forgetting little words like ‘<em>oven</em>.’” She gestured toward the appliance in question and he rolled that way. To Sylvia, she added, “It’s all that research he does. Lots of technical language.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I might need another unfertilized embryo,” the Doctor called. “The proteins don’t seem to be binding at an optimal rate.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A <em>what?</em>” Sylvia asked. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eggs are in the fridge,” Donna called back. “Top right.” She turned back to Sylvia, nudging the biscuit tin into her hands. “See, it’s fine. We’ll be done in no time.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sixty-eight minutes, seventeen seconds,” the Doctor said. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In an hour,” Donna said, adding a smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’d better not destroy my kitchen,” Sylvia warned, taking the tin and trying to get another look over her daughter’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna edged back into the way, fluffing her hair over just as the lunatic man seemed to be crawling right onto the table. “We’ll clean up after,” she said. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, is there a sterilization sequence?” the Doctor asked. “I was looking for one!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ahaha,” Donna laughed again, too loudly. “He’s just kidding.” She called back, “Not in the lab now, are we? <em>Remember?</em>” The Doctor grumbled something about technological inefficiencies, but Donna laughed over that, nudging Sylvia back out. “Now off you pop! Won’t need anything for at least a couple of hours! Oh, when you’re done with the biscuits, you could hit the shops if you like? Pick up a little something for the party?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See if she has any more edible ball bearings!” the Doctor said, making a suspicious clatter. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvia glared. “Edible <em>what?</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He means those little silver ball sprinkle things,” Donna said. “…I don’t know what they’re actually called.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor huffed. “They’re called edible ball bearings! I’ve <em>just</em> said!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Think you could pick some up while you’re out?” Donna asked, raising her voice a bit like it would cover the rattling behind her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, am I definitely going out now?” Sylvia huffed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s the point of having help in the kitchen if you just stand here watching, right?” Donna tried. She had that overly bright look like when she’d first started smuggling boys out the back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’d better not be getting up to anything while I’m out,” Sylvia warned. “Dad’s only out back. You don’t want to give him a heart attack!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why would we give Wilf a heart attack?” the Doctor wondered. “Is he sensitive to gluten? No, that doesn’t cause heart attacks…” He started mumbling a list of possible diagnoses. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s just a phrase!” Donna called back, too loudly again. She turned back to Sylvia. “I’ve already told you we’re not― He’s not even― Oh, never mind! We’ll just be baking! Couple of hours then? Have fun!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Honestly, how is it that you’ve gotten even stranger?” Sylvia asked, but she was speaking to the closed door. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">From the other side she could hear her daughter asking, “Which of these have <em>not</em> already been in your mouth?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor waited two hours, nine minutes, and forty-three seconds after Sylvia and Wilf went to bed before letting himself into Donna’s room. “Donna,” he whispered loudly, “I can’t sleep.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mnm,” Donna said, rolling further into her pile of blankets. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s too quiet,” he told her, coming in and closing the door. “And there’s this clock that’s a zeptosecond too slow! It’s torture!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nmn,” Donna grumbled, rolling tighter. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Donna,” he called again, pitching his voice into a mammal-soothing tone on approach. “You could tell me what you did to the TARDIS? I could nip out and back before you know it?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nmnm.” Donna scrunched up like a giant purple pill bug with a tuft of red hair sticking out the top of her bedding. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor braced one knee on the mattress and leaned over, looking for a seam to pull. “Don-na,” he tried again. “You don’t want me to wake your mother, do you? Come on, just tell me what you did?”  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Grph!” The ball of bedding shifted suddenly and a single pajama-clad arm shot out, snatching him in and re-closing the seal. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Donna!” he yelped, but it was a bit muffled by the mound of blankets that had been shoved over his face. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“‘M sleepin!” Donna grumbled, and somehow locked the arm around his waist, throwing a leg over as well in some sort of strangely effective hold. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d noticed!” he said, struggling unsuccessfully. He tried to roll and Donna came right along with him, clamping down onto his back like a giant ginger marmoset. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You sleep too,” she grumbled, and wedged her face into the back of his collar. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Donna!” he tried again, indignantly, but she’d managed to tuck the blanket around with her arms and snatched the opposite sides into her hot little fists, now tucked under his chest. “You can’t just <em>trap</em> me here!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shh,” Donna mumbled against his back. “Sleepin’.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s actually <em>precisely</em> my complaint!” the Doctor pointed out, thrashing a bit indignantly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna clamped around more tightly if anything, adding an alarming little burrowing motion at his back. “Quiet time,” she mumbled, and gave him a full-bodied squeeze. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not going to just <em>lie</em> here,” he argued, turning his head to the side to manage it properly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shhh,” Donna said, shifting her grip to fist the covers in one hand so she could shove the other one up and into his hair where she started scratching him like a giant cat. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not going to just lie here <em>and be petted!</em>” he argued, more loudly. “I’m a Time Lord! Not a cat!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Poor Doctor,” Donna cooed, and scratched little whorls around his parietal bone. The involuntary feedback started up in his chest, adding an audible vibration that Donna incorrectly referred to as purring.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Donna!” he groused, but couldn’t quite keep from angling to get her sharp little nails over the back of his skull. The involuntary feedback got louder. “You can’t just― OK, right there. Bit to the left…” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tha’s right. Sleepy Spaceman.” Donna scratched just so, giving him another squeeze and an odd little wriggle before going a bit limp. Her hand kept moving, making fuzzy little circles. “Nice, sleepy Spaceman,” she mumbled. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna ran hot normally, but her resting temperature was positively radiating heat, trapped in her fluffy comforter. The hand in his hair scratched and stroked like she was chasing the tension he carried there without realizing. And he tried very hard not to physically wrestle his companions… as a rule…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor dropped off to sleep without realizing. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Donna, you can’t just sleep the day away!” Sylvia let herself into her daughter’s room, looking around for laundry out of habit. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna’s head bobbed up in her peripheral vision, but it was followed by a second, less familiar movement. Sylvia turned to find Donna and that mad Doctor stacked on top of each other under the violet duvet. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Donna!” Sylvia shrieked. “Get off of that man!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wh―?” Her daughter squinted, still not any better at waking up in spite of her advancing age. “Mum? What?” She moved to rub her eye and had to push the Doctor’s head out of the way to manage it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The ridiculous man just flopped right back down into the pillow face first. “Mphm,” he grumbled. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Donna, what on Earth do you think you’re doing in <em>my house?!</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wh―?” Donna squinted one eye closed. “Mum?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For Heaven’s sake, wake up faster! You’re nearly forty! This is no way to behave!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna’s nose wrinkled at the reminder of her own age and she pushed up onto her elbows. “Mum, why are you in my…?” Sylvia could see the moment she woke up enough to realize. “Oh. Oh!” Her eyes went very wide. “This isn’t what it looks like!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvia wasn’t even sure what it looked like. But she was sure it wasn’t <em>good.</em> The Doctor was still lying face down with her daughter lying on top of him and there was a dark spot of drool on the back of his borrowed pajamas. “He’s supposed to be on the couch! And you’ve spent all this time swearing up and down and black and blue, ‘No, he’s just a friend, Mum!’ Is <em>this</em> what you’re doing with all your friends now?!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Aw, Mum, it’s <em>really</em> not―“ Donna struggled upright and at least they were wearing pajamas. But Sylvia put a hand over her eyes on principle. “You don’t have to― We’re <em>just</em> sleeping! We’re both wearing pajamas! He’s got <em>fuzzy socks</em> on!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna threw back the duvet, revealing that the ridiculous man was, indeed, wearing fuzzy purple socks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvia squinted around her own fingers. “Are those the ones <em>I</em> got you for <em>Christmas?!</em>”  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor’s toes curled in the stolen socks and tried to tuck back under the covers. “Don-na,” he whined. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna tapped her knuckles against his back, hissing, “Wake up! Mum’s here!” To Sylvia, she said, “It’s really fine!” She tapped her hand more urgently, earning an increasingly loud grumble. “Doc-tor!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” he whined. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wake <em>up!</em> Mum is here! <em>Now!</em> In the room!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” His head bobbed up again, looking around. He spotted Sylvia, blinking blearily. “What?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Get there faster!” Donna hissed and he jerked upright, nearly flailing out of the bed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What!?” He wrenched himself over like an ungainly daddy longlegs. “Sylvia! What―?!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, that’s <em>my</em> question!” Sylvia snapped. “What on <em>Earth</em> do you think you’re doing to <em>my daughter</em> in <em>my house</em>?!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor squinted at her, looking like a baffled hedgehog. “What? What??” He turned to Donna. “What?!?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re just sleeping!” Donna repeated, shoving on her robe and tossing one at the Doctor. “What are you doing in my room anyway? I’m a grown woman! You can’t just―!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is <em>my</em> house!” Sylvia reminded her. “And you’ve been lying to my face this whole time! I’ll treat you like a grown woman when you stop lying to me like a skulky teen!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oi, I’m not <em>lying!</em>” Donna objected. “We were sleeping! And what does it matter anyway?!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What does it <em>matter?!</em>” Sylvia shrieked. “You’ve been abducted by some lunatic that you’re clearly―“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mum!” Donna cut her off. “I haven’t been <em>abducted!</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You could object to the ‘lunatic’ part,” the Doctor grumbled. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shch!!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wha-hey, what’s all this then?” Sylvia’s father appeared in the doorway, looking around cheerily. He took in the tableau. “Havin’ a sleepover?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A sleepover! Yes!” the Doctor piped up and then shrank back at Sylvia’s glare. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sylvia pointed an accusatory finger. “They’ve been lying this whole time! I walked in on them!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Barged</em> in on us <em>sleeping!</em>” Donna said, edging toward her grandfather. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A small miracle, I’m sure!” Sylvia snapped. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Surprising everyone, Wilf started laughing. “You thought Donna and <em>the Doctor</em> were―? Oh, sweetheart, he’s not―“ He chuckled, eyes watering. “It’s really not a worry.” He held an arm out and Donna and the Doctor shuffled over to him like stray chicks. “What do we think? Breakfast?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dad!” Sylvia argued.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, it’s fine, sweetheart.” He bundled the perverts out in their matching violet dressing gowns. “Come on, you two. Let’s see about getting some food into you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dad! <em>Donna!</em>” Sylvia stalked out after them. “Don’t just walk away from me!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you still have eggs?” Donna’s voice filtered down the hall, followed by the Doctor announcing, “I could make eggs!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re not done talking!” Sylvia shouted after them. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi, sorry we’re late,” Donna bundled the Doctor through the wedding hall doorway. “Had a bit of a conversation about dress code.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s <em>wrong</em> with <em>my</em> suit?!” the Doctor griped, tugging at a dark burgundy smoking jacket he seemed to have been wrestled into. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The blue one is still in the decontamination chamber, and the brown one doesn’t fit the color scheme,” Donna said with the air of someone repeating herself too many times to keep track. She turned a bright smile on Martha. “You look lovely!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, thank you, but― Oh.” The Doctor realized Donna was addressing Martha, but his pout quickly turned into a brilliant grin. “Martha Jones, you <em>do</em> look lovely! Happy Wedding!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, that’s not― never mind.” Donna turned her cheery smile up a few watts. “We haven’t missed anything important, have we?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Haven’t even started yet,” Martha assured her. She couldn’t quite help a look up and down. Donna’s dress seemed to be a patchwork of every color that could possibly be considered red or purple, looped in flowing, gauzy lines. “Speaking of lovely, that dress…” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I picked it out!” the Doctor said. He tapped his own tie, which was a similar muddle of colors. “We match!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna rolled her eyes. “There were a lot of negotiations about the suit. Not like I need to be in any photos, right?” She tapped one brightly-colored converse against the ground. “Er. Sorry about the shoes though.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Show her the wrap!” the Doctor said, and pulled something that was somehow even brighter out of his pocket. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The wrap is for later!” Donna chided, but pulled it over her shoulders, tipping an odd curtsey Martha’s way before handing it back. “Now, if we’re done with the fashion show,” she inclined her head, clearly hinting.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor shoved the wrap back into his pocket and turned back to Martha, beaming. “Is there dancing? Will there be nibbles? Should I give a toast?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um,” Martha said. “Yes, yes, and no, I think we’re all set on toasts…” She squinted at him. “Are you wearing eyeliner?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nodded enthusiastically. “Donna said humans wear makeup to special occasions.”  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Have you ever tried explaining gender norms to this one?” Donna asked, inclining her head toward the Doctor. “Acts like <em>I</em> invented them <em>personally</em> just to ruin his day!” She shrugged. “The eyeliner’s less noticeable than the lipstick, believe me.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>You’re</em> wearing both!” the Doctor pointed out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ginger privilege,” Donna said, and straightened his technicolor tie. She leaned over and whispered something in his ear. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, yes! The offering!” The Doctor dug around in his pocket again and produced a garishly-wrapped, oddly shaped bundle, which he handed to Martha with a flourish. “It’s a toaster!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s very <em>nearly</em> a toaster,” Donna corrected. She gave Martha an apologetic grimace. “It’s not <em>alive,</em> at least.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Statistically speaking, most traditional offerings are alive, you know. It’s part of the ritual! Life for life―“ </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna clapped a hand over his mouth, whispering again, more harshly this time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor glared, but when he got her hand off he just said, “Happy Wedding!” again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you,” Martha said, holding the odd bundle just a little bit away from her own dress. Just in case. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is your mother here?” the Doctor asked. “She was really warming to me last time.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s around here somewhere…” Martha said evasively, and gave Donna a pleading look. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are those little tarts being passed around?” Donna asked, pointing over his shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He followed her finger and darted off in that direction. “Nibbles!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not the whole tray!” Donna called, and turned back to Martha. “Seriously, congratulations! You deserve only nice things.” She held her arms out. “Hug?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martha placed the oddly-wrapped possible-toaster to the side and gave her an enthusiastic hug. “You’re so sweet! Thank you for coming!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I love a wedding!” Donna said, and squeezed her a bit tighter. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are we hugging?” The Doctor reappeared, immediately pulling them both in. “Ah, the new old team!” He gave them a big, hearty squeeze. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oi, not me! Hug Martha!” Donna laughed, but wedged an arm around him as well. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor lifted them both up on the next squeeze, and planted a big smacking kiss on the side of Martha’s head. “Many happy returns!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s for anniversaries,” Donna said.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mazel tov?” he tried.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna shrugged and bobbed her head, considering. “Technically correct.” She kissed the air by Martha’s cheek. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who’s this with their hands all over my new wife?” Tom appeared, smiling winsomely. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is this your Tom Milligan?” the Doctor asked, still holding both Donna and Martha like beloved stuffed bears. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tom Jones-Milligan, now,” Tom said with a little bow. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, you’re a bit of all right,” Donna said. To Martha, she added, “Well done, you!” She grinned mischievously. “Is this one of those weddings where the guests get to kiss the groom?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martha giggled and Tom chuckled warmly. “You must be the Doctor and Donna,” Tom guessed, quickly taking in the Doctor’s riotous hair and bright crimson converses that seemed to have sequins today. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Charmed,” Donna said, and nudged the Doctor off to offer a hand. She elbowed the alien on her way, giving him a pointed look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pleasure to meet you, Tom Jones-Milligan!” the Doctor chirped and pulled Tom into a smacking kiss on the lips. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That was a <em>joke!</em>” Donna said, and pried him back off. “Sorry,” she added to Tom. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, quite all right,” Tom said, straightening his tie and looking a bit flustered. “Cultural differences, right?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor was already distracted by a new tray being passed nearby. “Are those pasties?” He bounded off. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna plastered on a smile that showed a few more teeth than usual. “How much has Martha told you about the Doctor?” she asked carefully. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They used to work together, right?” They all three watched the Doctor steal treats from several trays like a very tall squirrel. Tom smiled and added, “She didn’t mention he was married though. Bit of a relief, if I’m honest.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, we’re not―“ Donna caught a nervous look from Martha and cut herself off. “Er. We, uh, don’t get out much. Socially.” The Doctor reappeared and handed a handful of pasties to Donna. “Aw, not just in your hands! Use a plate!” She nonetheless took a bite of each of the pasties, ate one herself, and handed three back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor snapped them up, already looking around for more. “This is great! Lots of nibbles!” He beamed at Martha. “Brilliant wedding, Martha Jones! And Tom Jones-Milligan!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Both Jones-Milligan now,” Martha said, laughing. “And thank you! Glad you could make it!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” the Doctor said, looking around the room. “Oh, is that your mother there?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We could dance first!” Donna said, grabbing his hand before he could shoot off. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turned to her curiously. “There’s no music.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re just getting round to that!” Martha said, giving Donna a grateful glance. She signaled the band, who jumped up, thoroughly bewildered, but heading right for their places. She turned to Tom. “What do you think? First dance? Right now?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tom blinked at her, but caught on immediately, bless him. He held out an arm. “Could I escort you to the dance floor, Dr. Jones-Milligan?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martha looped an arm through his, smiling. “Certainly, Dr. Jones-Milligan.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna caught the Doctor’s arm before he could follow. “Happy couple first, <em>then</em> barmy aliens!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, you’re just making up rules now!” the Doctor scoffed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did she say ‘alien?’” Tom asked. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Inside joke.” Martha signaled the band more urgently. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After the wedding and the requisite socialization, the Doctor headed right for the TARDIS. But the moment he put his hand on the paneling, he got a sharp shock. “Ow!” And another. “<em>Ow!!!</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s wrong?” Donna asked. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You broke my TARDIS!” the Doctor said. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, for―“ Donna pushed past him and put her own key in the lock. It clicked uselessly against the deadlock. “Huh,” she said and turned to him. “…Do we knock?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What good would knocking do?!” the Doctor said, thumping the panels as he did so. “We went to the wedding! Let us back in!” The TARDIS shocked him again. “Ow!! What?!” He spun on Donna who put her hands up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t do anything!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You clearly set the lock wrong!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oi!” Donna rapidly reverted to her usual indignation. “Maybe she’s just enjoying the break from you banging on in there!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” The TARDIS rumbled, and the panel warmed under his palm. “What?!?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m right, aren’t I?” Donna patted the box and cooed, “Do you want a little longer to rest up?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The muzzy concept of three solar cycles came through.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Three days?!” the Doctor sputtered. “You’re a time and space machine! What on Earth do you need <em>three days</em> for?!” There was a pause and then a muddled offer of one day. “We’re not <em>negotiating!</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Aw, let her have a day off,” Donna said. “We can… hm…” She trailed off, clearly remembering the frankly impressive range of threats that Sylvia had come up with over breakfast. “Probably shouldn’t try Mum again for a little while…” She gave the Doctor a skeptical look. “Do you know anyone we could stay with who won’t mind us showing up out of the blue?” The Doctor did a quick mental calculation, pulled Donna’s phone out of her pocket, and punched in the most helpful number he knew. “Oi, don’t help yourself!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He held up a finger, the universal gesture for ‘quiet while I’m on the phone.’ The line rang a few times and then picked up. “Martha Jones-Milligan,” he greeted cheerily. “Do you still have that flat of yours?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not <em>Martha!</em>” Donna shrieked, lunging for him, but he ducked that easily. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Had a spot of trouble with the TARDIS,” he explained. “Could Donna and I stay over?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s her wedding night!” Donna argued, trying to get the phone again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, Donna, I’m well aware― we were just at the wedding, <em>together!</em>” He dodged her grabbing, trying to pay attention to the phone. “Yes. Yes. Oh, Yes! Right.” He nodded along, hiking a shoulder up to keep Donna away from the receiver. ”Should be… thirty eight minutes on foot,” he said. “See you in a tick!” He hung up and turned to Donna, now half over his back. “Martha says we can stay with her!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, for the love of―!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you <em>sure</em> this is all right?” Donna asked for the seventieth time. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martha waved her off again. “Not the weirdest favor I’ve been asked by this one,” she said. “It’s just― we only have the one guest room.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, <em>that’s</em> not a problem!” Donna said. “You really don’t need to even talk to us! Just go about your, uh, night!” The Doctor was busy snooping around the new room, investigating photos and opening drawers like he thought they’d be filled with treasure. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s really fine,” Martha insisted. Again. “We’re not even going on the honeymoon for another two weeks. Doctors’ schedules.” She and Tom shared a smile. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Still though,” Donna said. “Just pretend we’re not even here! Like we shouldn’t be!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">”Nonsense,” Tom said. “You’re old friends! And you made a special trip just for the wedding!” He frowned lightly, considering. “Actually, where <em>do</em> you two live? Martha’s been a bit unclear on the subject.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We travel a lot,” Donna said. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But… together, right?” Tom gave a curious glance over her shoulder. The Doctor was holding up pajamas like he wasn’t sure which end was up. “Because we could, well, I hate to offer the couch…” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’re fine sharing a room,” Donna said. “Aren’t we, Doctor?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hardly sleep anyway,” the Doctor said, rifling through the armoire. “But human body temperatures make for nice bed warmers. And Donna runs a degree warmer than average.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ahaha,” Donna laughed awkwardly. “You and your sweet talk!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martha cast a guilty glance at Tom. “I’m sorry your, uh, flight was cancelled. We can get after it first thing.” She could practically hear the TARDIS grumbling somewhere at the reference. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s really fine,” Donna insisted. “We’re used to <em>much</em> smaller spaces than this! Remind me to tell you about the Grutos later.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The Grutos were <em>not</em> my fault!” the Doctor chimed in. “<em>You</em> were the one who propositioned their princess! <em>I</em> was just getting you out of a very awkward honeymoon!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is <em>that</em> what you call ‘getting out of’ something?! Because it sure seemed like a <em>differently</em> awkward honeymoon from where I was sitting!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I followed all of the customs to the letter!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Those customs were for the bride! <em>You</em> were <em>supposed</em> to be the <em>groom!</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is this about the hair again? I got lots of compliments!” The Doctor ran a hand through, spiking it up even more. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, you’re a king among giant guinea pigs! Congratulations, Squeak Lord!” Donna threw up her hands, turning back to Martha and Tom. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Er,” Martha said. “So the one room is fine then?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yup,” the Doctor said, popping the ‘p.’</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’ll really have to tell me some of these stories some day,” Tom said. “They do sound interesting. Do you keep a blog or travel diary of some kind?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, not you too, Tom!” the Doctor moaned. “I can’t have my companions blogging! Imagine the ramifications! This is how realities collapse!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ahaha,” Donna laughed again, too loudly. “So dramatic!” She gave him a pointed look over her shoulder. “Let’s not get your pinstripes in a twist!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor grumbled, but located Donna’s overnight toiletries and started rifling through those. “Do you have those little bands? I could braid your hair!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tom turned a teasing look on Martha. “Why don’t <em>I</em> ever get to braid <em>your</em> hair?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martha looked at him, baffled. “Is that…? Do you <em>want</em> to??”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Martha says it has to be tight or there’s no point,” the Doctor commented. He looked up after a beat and seemed confused to find all three people staring at him. “…What?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What <em>kind</em> of work did you used to do together?” Tom asked, voice carefully neutral. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, he just has a thing for hair,” Donna said. “He’ll braid yours if you let him too close!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…Right…” Tom said skeptically. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not sure I could,” the Doctor said. “It’s a bit short… But I could try…?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That was a <em>joke</em>, Doc-<em>tor,</em>” Donna said, gritting her teeth a bit. “I’m sure Tom doesn’t want some random bloke braiding his hair.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Primates regularly enjoy social grooming rituals with no regard for genders,” the Doctor said, blinking owlishly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna shot him a sharp warning look. “<em>What</em> did I say about the ape references?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s directly applicable!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tom cut in with, “Sorry, what are you a doctor of? I’d assumed medicine, but it sounds more like… anthropology, perhaps?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor bobbed his head from side to side. “Technically…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s a bit of a Jack-of-All-Trades, the Doctor,” Donna interrupted. She leaned in conspiratorially. “I think that’s why he insists on the title you know.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor huffed. “I keep telling you, I’ve <em>earned</em>―“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“All sorts of doctors, aren’t there?” Donna interrupted. “Hard to keep track, after a while.” She laughed awkwardly and Martha joined in after a beat. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you two all right?” the Doctor asked, finally coming back around to the doorway. He pressed two fingers into Donna’s neck. “Your pulse is elevated.” He reached for Martha as well, but Donna caught him before he made contact, jerking his arm around her own shoulders instead.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She yawned noisily. “Ah, well, getting a bit tired. Should we…?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Martha said immediately. “Of course. Good night then!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s 21:34 local time,” the Doctor said. “Your day cycles seem to be getting shorter. Have you been taking those Vitamin D supplements?” He started rifling through his pocket with his free hand. “Let me check your blood pressure. How’s your bone density?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right, that’s us off to bed!” Donna said cheerily, swatting his hand away. “Don’t let us keep you lovebirds!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Lovebirds?” the Doctor repeated curiously. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Newlyweds,” Donna said, giving him a Look. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor turned his baffled look on Martha who plastered on a smile. “Um,” she said. “Good night then!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good night,” Donna and the Doctor chimed in strange unison. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They closed the door, but the Doctor could clearly be heard asking to take a quick look at Donna’s bone density. Just for safety. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martha turned to Tom who was giving her a curious look. “Um,” she said. “They do say you should marry your best friend, right?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna could clearly be heard through the door. “Take that <em>off!</em> You <em>know</em> that’s my bra!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know, you could be using this instead of complaining about pockets all the time,” the Doctor’s voice came through as well. “Look at how many things I can fit in!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s not a saddlebag!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I bet I could add a dimension or two just here,” he said thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martha could feel Tom staring. “They’re very close,” she told him.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martha didn’t want to know how the Doctor and Donna knew the moment Tom headed out for the day, but they appeared as though summoned in the living room. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good morning!” the Doctor greeted cheerily. “Do you have any nibbles?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Doc-<em>tor</em>,“ Donna said through her own teeth, but Martha just laughed, weirdly relieved that some things never changed. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We have leftovers from the reception,” Martha told him, and he was already slipping past her into the kitchen to investigate. He homed right in on the pasties and mini quiches, pulling a tray out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna rolled her eyes. “Oi, <em>what</em> did we say about helping yourself to other people’s food?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Martha offered,” the Doctor said, and took a surprisingly dainty bite out of one of the pasties. He wrinkled his nose and passed the rest of it to Donna.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna took it without comment and popped it into her own mouth. She held a hand up to block her chewing and said, “These really are lovely!” to Martha. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Help yourselves!” Martha said. “I’ll put the kettle on.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This isn’t the same flat as last time, is it?” the Doctor asked. He took a bite out of three puff pastries, passed one to Donna, put one between them, and ate the rest of the third. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You mean the one that blew up?” Martha asked, rolling her eyes. “No.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna turned on the Doctor. “You blew up her flat?!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? No, <em>I</em> didn’t―! Why would you assume <em>I’d</em> blown it up?!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What, like Martha might’ve just blown up her own flat completely unrelated to you?” Donna rolled her eyes, bit into a mini quiche, wrinkled her nose, and passed the rest to the Doctor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He popped it into his own mouth indignantly. “Maybe not <em>unrelated</em>, per se, but I certainly didn’t <em>do</em> it!” He snatched the puff sitting between them up. “See if I share the cheesy ones with you and your baseless accusations!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna smacked his hand and rolled her eyes over to Martha. “Go on then, how did he blow it up?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor squawked, “I <em>didn’t</em>―!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He didn’t blow it up!” Martha said, but couldn’t quite help adding, “…Not that he was <em>completely</em> uninvolved…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna snorted and set one half-eaten quiche on the table between them. “If you lie to me again, we can just let fate decide who gets the cheesy ones.” It had the air of a threat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor grumbled, but delicately nipped another pastry and put it in the middle. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…How often do you guys do that?” Martha asked, watching them casually trading half-eaten treats. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do what?” the Doctor asked, wrinkling his nose and passing Donna two in a row. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martha gestured at the table. “Eat like that.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like what?” he asked, not even looking at what Donna handed him before he popped it into his own mouth. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…Never mind,” Martha said. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, how did <em>you</em> keep him from going on about every little olive or raisin he comes across like he’s being personally victimized by the Universe?” Donna asked. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um,” Martha said. “It didn’t come up.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Really?” Donna paused, mid-reach and the Doctor nearly fumbled whatever he was passing her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The cream is going to melt―!” he whined.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, for― Here!” Donna plucked it out of his hand and made a show of eating it. She put her hand up to cover her mouth when she turned back to Martha. “This <em>really</em> never came up?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um,” Martha said. “No, never did.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Huh.” Donna distractedly bit into another one and immediately screwed up her whole face, shoving the rest right into the Doctor’s mouth without even waiting for him to get a hand up. “Bleh. Pepper!” The Doctor made a sound like a pleased puppy, and Donna snatched her hand back. “No licking!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…So what are your plans for the day?” Martha asked. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I could upgrade your appliances!” the Doctor offered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Or</em> we could do <em>literally anything else,</em>” Donna cut in. She gave Martha an apologetic grimace. “Do you need to be off to work?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martha saw the Doctor cast an assessing look at the microwave. “…I have some dictations I can do from home,” she said. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, lovely!” Donna beamed. “We’ll stay out of your hair, yeah?” She gave the Doctor a pointed look. “Can’t be doing noisy repairs while Martha’s trying to work, <em>right?</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor looked at her curiously. “Why is your jaw clenching like that?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A few hours of uninterrupted work later, Martha started to wonder if she should be getting suspicious. She knocked on the guest room door, got a casual, “Come in!” and walked in on― well, she wasn’t sure what, but it involved a lot more skin than she’d ever seen in her travels with the Doctor. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry!” Martha threw a hand over her face, spinning around, and somehow knocked the door closed.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry for what?” the Doctor asked and made a low rumbling groan that she did <em>not </em>need to hear. “<em>Just</em> there!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, God!” Martha felt around for the doorknob with the hand not over her eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you all right?” Donna asked, and it was her completely matter-of-fact tone that made Martha brave enough to look around. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna was casually straddling the Doctor, who seemed to have lost all of his usual top layers and was stretched out on his stomach, braced over one of their turquoise guest pillows. It took Martha a moment to reconcile the positions. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you having a <em>massage?!</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ohhh, yes!” the Doctor moaned, ecstatic. “Donna gives <em>the best</em> massages.” He groaned again, and sounded like he was purring, actually. “Do you want to go next?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not for <em>rent!</em>” Donna argued, but went up onto her knees as she said it, and the rumbling purr ratcheted up exponentially. She rolled her eyes over to Martha. “Sorry, it was either this or let him try to ‘fix’ your TV.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I could have it running at half power with four-times the resolution,” the Doctor whined, and got his face shoved down into the mattress for it. Her hand fisted in his hair and the purring groan sounded… Well, Martha was glad Tom wasn’t home to hear it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll, um, leave you to it then.” Martha willed her skin not to turn any new shades.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna’s head jerked up. “Oh, no, stay, please! If you’re done with your transcripts, I mean.” She pressed down again and the Doctor groaned. “He’s useless to talk to while I’m at this. Doesn’t even bother breathing half the time.” The Doctor rumbled something that was probably supposed to be an objection, but it was undercut by his noisy purring. “I could do you next if you wanted?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martha took in Donna’s casual hold, braced over the Doctor with her sleeves rolled up and her collar dangling open. “Um,” Martha said. “How often do you guys do <em>this?</em>” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna tilted her head, considering. “Not… often…” she said unconvincingly. She shoved a hand into his hair, scratching him like a giant cat. “How often <em>do</em> you trick me into doing this?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not a <em>trick!</em>” the Doctor argued, but it was nearly entirely muffled by the mattress. “You offered! I wanted to fix the TV!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna rolled her eyes. “I’m picking the next trip. And you’re cracking my back!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mphm.” The Doctor didn’t seem to be arguing, too busy angling around for optimal petting. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You didn’t happen to have a cat growing up, did you?” Martha asked, watching Donna knead expertly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A big ginger one,” Donna said. “As soon as it got cold out, he’d sleep in the bed with me and just <em>purr</em>…” She squinted down at the Doctor. “…Actually…” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m <em>not</em> a <em>cat!</em>” the Time Lord growled, but he didn’t even bother lifting his head to do it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bad kitty! Don’t lie,” Donna crooned, mocking freely. She dug both hands into his hair, ruffling, and the purring picked up again. Donna grinned up at Martha. “It does make him a bit more manageable, doesn’t it?” She moved her hands back down to his shoulders and then rolled down his back again. “Who’s a nice, pretty kitty?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop it,” the Doctor ordered, but it was entirely unconvincing, muffled by both the bed and his noisy purring.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was going to ask if you needed anything, but you seem to be all set,” Martha noted. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tom came back from work and walked in on his new wife clapping and chanting “Hup! Hup! Hup!” with the strange ginger woman while her even stranger husband performed a Russian squat dance in the middle of their living room. The Doctor looked over on his arrival, and hopped into a starfish pose. “Tom Jones-Milligan! You’ve returned!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martha and Donna wrenched around with a little chorus of “Tom!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Busy day?” Tom teased, coming over to give Martha a little kiss. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martha looked faintly embarrassed, but she was still laughing a little. “Might’ve wrapped up early,” she admitted. “The Doctor’s a bad influence.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was <em>Donna’s</em> idea!” the Doctor said, pointing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna shrugged. “It was either this or run you up and down the stairs.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not a child!” the Doctor objected, and then got distracted by the chocolate she tossed at him. “Or a trained seal!” he added, but it was a bit muffled by the chocolate in his mouth. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are those the Valentine’s chocolates I got you?” Tom asked, eyeing the familiar tin. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The third box!” Martha said defensively. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They’re absolutely brilliant,” the Doctor said, reaching around Donna to grab more. He took little bites out of two, ate one, and held the other one up in front of her face, palm flat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t feed me like a horse!” Donna objected, but plucked the half-eaten chocolate out of his hand and ate it without further comment. She turned back to Tom. “Sorry, <em>someone</em> found the sweet stash.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The what?” Tom asked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The <em>what?</em>” Martha repeated, too loudly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor pointed at one of the drawers in Martha’s desk. “The sweet stash,” he said. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The <em>secret</em> sweet stash!” Martha said. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The wh―?” The Doctor’s question cut off when Donna shoved a truffle right into his mouth. His brows slammed down and then went right back up with a pleased little hum. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Never mind all that,” Donna said. “The point is you’re back now, so we really should be going.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Already? You could join us for dinner,” Tom offered. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dinner?” the Doctor echoed, intrigued. Tom was beginning to suspect he had some sort of record-breaking high metabolism that he might be able to ask about later. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We could order in,” Tom offered, heading over to the takeout menu drawer. “Martha and I aren’t much for cooking most nights, but we have a phenomenal selection of…” He opened the drawer and paused. “…Has someone folded our takeout menus into origami frogs?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The receipts are birds,” the Doctor said. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry about that,” Donna said. “I took a quick shower earlier and he got out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Again, I’m <em>not</em> a pet,” the Doctor said. “I’m a Time―“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oops!” Donna shoved another candy into his mouth. “No, of course you’re not a pet. You’d make a terrible pet!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>You</em> make a terrible pet!” he grumbled, but carried on chewing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How long have you two been married?” Tom asked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor frowned and started to say, “We’re not―!” But Donna cut him off with another truffle, straight from the box to his mouth. He immediately got distracted, lurching away. “Raisin?! Donna!!” He yanked a large handkerchief out of his pocket, spat the candy out, and tried to scrape it off his tongue for good measure. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry, sorry!” Donna took two quick bites of two others and handed him the second. “Here― caramel!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shoved it in like a bezoar, glaring. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know, there’s an insert on the inside panel of the tin that tells you which truffles are which flavors,” Tom pointed out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor mumbled something that sounded like, “Turtle,” but that couldn’t be right.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tom leaned in. “Come again?” Donna held up the remains of the explanatory insert, which had been folded into a large origami turtle. “...Ah,” Tom said. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Probably best if we just eat back at the― uh― airport,” Donna said. “You two have put up with us long enough!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor turned to her. “Do you think she’ll let us back in? It’s only been twenty-two hours, forty-eight minutes and seventeen seconds.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry, who are you talking about?” Tom asked curiously. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, just the, uh― Never mind!” Donna said. To the Doctor, she added, “I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll vouch for you.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>You’ll</em> vouch for <em>me!?</em> She can’t even understand you half the time! Remember that incident with your towels?!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stop bringing that up!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s directly pertinent!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What happened to the towels?” Martha asked and then glanced at Tom, changing course to, “I mean― Never mind! If you think your, uh, flight will be ok with you arriving early, then I suppose that’s all right.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’ll be fine,” Donna said, looking around. “Where are the suitcases?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor blinked at her. “Were we still using those?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “Tell me you haven’t folded them into origami ducks.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Doctor said. “...I took them apart to make a rocking horse.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Donna tipped her head back. “If you used my favorite bra as reins for some rocking horse―!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You can borrow one of my bags,” Martha suggested.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You really must come back soon,” Tom added, already on his way to get the bag. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For those who think Doctor/Donna shenanigans are all well and good, but want actual shippy content, please feel free to proceed directly to the immediate sequel, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28854285">Compatible Lunacy</a>.<br/>If you read (and enjoyed) this BECAUSE it's not shippy, please feel free to let me know. I had a real debate with myself about whether to separate out these two stories or just foist my shippy agenda on everyone.<br/>I’m also on <a href="https://1-of-those-things.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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